Marrying Mike...Again (15 page)

“So what’s that gotta do with us?”

“Not much,” Mike said calmly. “We were just in the neighborhood and thought we’d swing by for a chat.”

“Cops don’t chat.”

“Really? Must have missed that at the academy. So what’s your name?”

The boy glared at Mike harder but, faced with the larger man’s impassive expression, finally said, “Mac-Two. They call me Mac-Two. Can you figure that?”

Sandra gazed from Mike to the young man back to Mike again. They seemed to be engaged in some kind of contest, she decided. The boy was sizing up Mike, waiting for an answer, and Mike was taking his time, staying in control. She wasn’t sure how the winner would be declared or what might be at stake. Then Mike spoke again.

“Mac one-one,” he said. “As in MAC-11, as in the automatic pistol.”

Mac-Two’s brows shot up. He rocked back on his heels and gave Mike a fresh appraisal.

“Not bad,” he finally grunted. The boy climbed back on the picnic table and apparently Sandra and Mike made the grade, for he introduced them to the group. The two boys were named G’Day and Lil Man. They were friends of Mac-Two and didn’t say much. Sandra thought Lil Man appeared flustered when she shook his hand, turning away quickly before Mac-Two saw him blush. The young girl turned out to be Mac-Two’s sister, Keisha. Her son was almost a year old and named Bobby.

Bobby’s father was working this afternoon, Keisha explained softly. He held down two jobs, a real trooper for her and the baby. Someday, they wanted to own their own house. Maybe somewhere out in the country where they could have their own backyard with a dog and a swing set. Some place where they wouldn’t have to worry about Bobby getting hit by a stray bullet. That would be nice.

Mac-Two scoffed at this. He told his sister coldly that she’d already messed that up. If she’d really wanted to leave the east side, she shouldn’t have gotten herself pregnant. Everyone knew once you were sixteen years old and had a baby that you were stuck. Hadn’t she looked around the neighborhood lately?

“Karl is different,” Keisha said stubbornly. “He’s a stand-up man. He’ll take good care of Bobby and me.”

“Stand-up man? The boy don’t even have a GED. What kinda life he gonna provide without an education? He’s a stock boy now and he’s gonna be a stock boy ten years from now. If he makes it that long. If he don’t one day decide to hell with the hard work and give in to his brother.”

“He ain’t talking to his brother,” Keisha replied heatedly. “He ain’t going down that road. He
promised
me.”

Mac-Two scoffed again. He looked at Mike and Sandra with a hard, unrelenting face. “Karl Jones’s brother be an O.G.B. Good rep, good piece of business. He drive around in a Mercedes. Got a wife and two kids of his own. They all got matching diamond necklaces, not these stupid gold chains here.” He waved a dismissive hand at his sister’s and nephew’s jewelry and Keisha flinched. “Karl wanna be a provider like his brother, but at least he got the brains to stay out of the gang. Of course how he gonna provide, then? Around here, you got two choices. Dealin’ and rich, or straight and poor. That’s life. If Karl Jones don’t wanna face that, then so much for being a stand-up guy.”

“He works hard,” Keisha said again, but compared to her brother’s matter-of-fact speech, her voice was weak.

“He’s gonna take care of Bobby and me, you’ll see.”

“What about you?” Sandra asked Mac-Two. “Where do you want to be five years from now?”

Mac-Two merely shrugged. “Alive, that’s my goal. It be big enough.”

“Come on, you must want more than that.”

“Lady, look around. Why the hell you down here anyway? Pity field trip? White liberal guilt? Damn, this place ain’t got anything to do with you.”

“I’m the new chief of police,” Sandra said reasonably.

“This place has everything to do with me.”

“You gonna clean this up?” He waved his hand around the abandoned playground.

“I think we’d better.”

“Uh-huh. And the morning after that and the morning after that? Listen here, lady cop—go back to your political meetings and fussy white friends. Give them speeches ’bout what you wanna do. They’ll be happy for you, they’ll pat you on the back. We, we know better.”

“Like Vee?” Mike interjected. “Like Vee knows better?”

Mac-Two’s gaze narrowed shrewdly. He gave them both a fresh appraisal. “Yeah,” he drawled. “Like my good brother Vee knows better.”

Sandra inhaled sharply. She glanced at Mike and could tell he felt it, too. Mac-Two knew something.

“I would like to meet Vee,” Sandra said quietly.

“Uh-huh.”

“As the new chief of police,” she continued, “I’m very concerned about what happened to his father. It’s not right for officers to be shooting people in the back. I would want to look into that…if I had more information.”

“If you had more information.”

“I’d like to meet him, too,” Mike said. “I have two sisters and I’d hate it if anything happened to them. In fact, I spoke to a doctor this morning who thought he could help Vee’s sister, free of charge. If he had more information.”

“If you had more information.” Mac-Two rolled his eyes. Suddenly he slapped G’Day and Lil Man on the back. The two younger kids lurched forward, caught off guard. “Take a hike,” he commanded harshly, and the two kids, charged by the unexpected savagery in his voice, obediently took off running.

That left Mac-Two, his sister, and Bobby, who was happily blowing bubbles. On instinct, Sandra picked the baby up and cradled him against her chest. He smelled of baby powder and warm skin. He felt unbelievably soft against her bare throat. His stubby fingers grabbed at her jacket lapels, then twisted her shirt collar. He had drool on his hands, dirt, too. Keisha looked embarrassed as he left a long muddy streak across Sandra’s shoulder, but Sandra didn’t mind.

He was a precious child. Holding him in the middle of a gray, cracked park, Sandra could understand why Keisha held so feverishly to her dream of a house and white picket fence. Holding him in the middle of a needle-strewn park, Sandra could understand why Vee felt so angry. And sad, too, she realized for the first time. The thirteen-year-old wasn’t just mad. He was also heartbroken.

Mac-Two had turned to Mike. “How much money?” he asked.

“Twenty,” Mike negotiated.

“Hell, man, the kid’s shootin’ at cops. Don’t insult me.”

“Forty.”

“One hundred. You walkin’ in the east side with a pretty lady, you obviously got nothin’.”

“We give you a hundred dollars,” Sandra spoke up, “and you’re going to tell us who Vee is? Just like that? I thought… What about loyalty?”

“He ain’t no brother of mine.”

“Do others feel that way?”

“Sandra,” Mike growled warningly.

She shook her head, pulling away from him and still holding the baby. “No, I want to understand this. This boy is writing letters to the paper. He is saying he’s tired of kids killing kids. He’s tired of violence against people’s sisters. You have a sister. You live here, too. Doesn’t any of that mean something to you?”

Mac-Two’s nostrils flared. “Don’t you walk in here and tell me what I’m supposed to feel.”

“I’m not telling you, I’m asking you.”

“No way. You’re tellin’ me I gotta be loyal to some letter in the paper. Look, lady. I gotta be loyal to my hood. I gotta be loyal to my family, I gotta be loyal to my homeys. Now don’t tell me I gotta be loyal to some letter. I don’t got
room
for that. I don’t got
time
for that. You got a hundred bucks or what?”

Mike gave Sandra a stern look. She backed off, though there was something about the whole exchange that unsettled her, left her wearier than before.

Mike handed over five twenty-dollar bills. Mac-Two gripped them fiercely.

“Where can we find Vee?” Mike asked.

“Hand over Bobby to Keisha.”

Sandra obeyed, though she promptly felt empty without the child.

“Where can we find Vee?” Mike repeated.

Mac-Two grinned. It was the only warning they got.

“Right behind you,” he said, and then like a shot, he and Keisha were gone.

Chapter 8

“D
own!” Mike yelled.

Immediately Sandra flattened, feeling gravel and glass dig into her palms as Mike whipped out his firearm and dropped into a crouch beside her.

“Where?” she cried. “I don’t see…”

And then she caught it. A flicker of movement across the street. Someone was in the flat brick building across from the park.

“Dammit, we’re sitting ducks out here,” Mike growled.

“On the count of three, run behind the car. One. Two.
Three.
”

Sandra sprang to her feet and ran. Mike was right beside her, curling his arm around her waist and covering her with his body as they raced for the protection of the car. They jumped behind the passenger-side door, ducking low and breathing hard. Still no sound from across the street. Somehow, that frightened Sandra more.

Mike had his 9 mm gripped with both hands in front of his face. Sweat beaded his brow, but he still sounded remarkably composed as he said, “Do you have a gun?”

“In my purse on the floor of the car.”

“Get it out.”

He moved to the end of the car, peering earnestly across the street while she cracked open the door and dragged out her purse. Seconds later she had a small .22-caliber pistol in her grip, though her hands weren’t nearly as steady as Mike’s.

“I think he’s gone,” Mike said. “Damn.”

“Damn?”

“Face it,
ma chère,
this may be as close as we come to catching him. Okay, you sit here. Don’t move a muscle. I’ll be back in a sec.”

“What are you—”

Mike didn’t wait for her question. He bolted across the street with his head tucked between his shoulders. Sandra was left peering out from behind the bumper, nervously waiting to see what happened next. The building across the street appeared to be an old garage of some kind. The front facade was brick with evenly spaced square windows. Unfortunately, the glass was so caked with dirt and grime it was impossible to see in.

Was Vee still inside? Had he already run off or was he serious now? Two cops had come into the east side and were asking about him. Maybe that had made him mad. Maybe it was enough to jolt him into action.

Dr. Mayes had said Vee was mostly angry with himself. Suddenly Sandra wasn’t so sure.

A loud popping sound emitted from across the street, followed by a startling crash and a fierce curse. Next thing Sandra knew, a small body came tearing out of the building and made a beeline for the fence down the street.

Vee, she realized. That was Vee.

Acting on instinct, she took off in pursuit.

Vee had a good head start on her, so they were hardly neck and neck. From this distance, she couldn’t even tell if he was carrying a gun, but assumed he must be. Mostly she was struck by his size. Small, wiry. More boy than man. And fast. He tore down the sidewalk like hell on wheels, his arms pumping furiously at his sides.

“Stop, police,” Sandra yelled belatedly.

He kept on running, not even glancing over his shoulder.

Dammit, she was never going to be able to catch him. The kid moved too fast and she’d been an idiot to wear heels. She honestly needed Mike and had no idea how far behind her he might be. She’d heard more cursing from the building as she’d run by it; he was probably tangled up in there.

Then she was seized by another realization. Vee was a small boy, obviously intent on getting away. Sooner or later he must plan on ducking through something, cutting through somewhere.

She spotted it. An opening in the fence up ahead. The boy could dive on through and come out on another block or cut through a backyard. If he made it, she was sunk.

Sandra came to a halt in the middle of the street. She identified a car capable of offering protective cover if she needed it, and she made her stand. She raised her gun above her head, and knowing what she did of Vee’s father, she fired.

The boy immediately halted. He was three feet from the hole in the fence. She could see him lean toward it longingly, weighing his chances.

“Don’t make me shoot,” she called out.

Very slowly, Vee turned around. Now she could see the 9 mm dangling from his fingertips. It looked frighteningly large in his hand.

“Drop the gun, hands over your head.”

He didn’t move.

“Drop your gun,” she said more forcibly. “Hands over your head!”

He didn’t move.

“Drop your weapon!”

The boy shook his head. Sandra had one last impression. Huge brown eyes framed by thick lashes. An expression nearly as frightened as her own. Then his face settled, became too stoic. Vee jerked his arms around, gun coming up.

“No!” Mike yelled from behind her, still running to the scene.

“No,” Sandra gasped.

The boy threw his gun at her with all his might. Then he dove through the hole in the fence as Sandra’s knees gave way in shock and she collapsed in Mike’s arms.

“Are you okay, are you okay?”

They were back in Mike’s unmarked police car. Minutes had passed since the confrontation, but it seemed like hours. Sandra was cradled on Mike’s lap. She knew it was unprofessional and yet she had no intention of going anywhere.

“I’m okay,” she said in a shaky voice, still clinging to his shoulders and searching his face earnestly for signs of damage. “You?”

“Banged my stupid head on a collapsing beam. What the hell were you doing running after him like that?”

“I had to do something. You said so yourself—this might have been our only chance to find him.”

“He could’ve shot you!”

“He didn’t.”

Mike gripped her harder. “Don’t you ever stop in the open like that again, Sandy. For heaven’s sake, when you confront an armed suspect, you find cover. You hear me?
You find cover.
”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Then she couldn’t speak. He was crushing her too tightly against his chest. He was tipping her head up. He was devouring her lips with his, feverish and punishing. And she welcomed the onslaught. She sympathized with his need to claim her as she was consumed by the need to claim him.